The Serpent and the Crown Read online

  Jorobai looked up and saw the fruit. It was red, round, about the size of his fist, and had spines sticking out of it. “I will chop them down and you must catch them with your hands. Don’t let them touch the ground. Place them into your bag.” Kayo climbed up into the tree and cut a piece of fruit. It fell and Jorobai reached up and caught it.

  “Ouch!” He cried out in pain as the spines pierced his hands and drew blood.

  “Your blood sacrifice is part of the brew. Only nineteen more to go.” Jorobai clenched his teeth in agony as the spines pierced his hands over and over again and his blood trickled all over the ground. Finally at twenty, he gazed at his skewered hands, drenched in blood.

  He heard rustling in the bushes ahead of him and looked up to see a colossal jaguar racing toward him. He reached into his belt to pull the knife as it sprung up at him. As the jaguar leapt through the air, a dart from Kayo’s blowgun sunk into its eye. It went into shock just before its neck was impaled by Jorobai’s knife and its claws pierced the flesh of his shoulders. It collapsed on top of him, convulsing as its blood ran down all over his face and chest. Its claws still extended, Jorobai shook along with it.

  Kayo dropped down and summoned all of his physical strength to roll the jaguar off Jorobai. The animal convulsed a few more times, then expelled its last breath. Kayo looked down to see that Jorobai was unconscious. He poured water onto his face and he was revived.

  He felt disoriented and weak from the trauma and the loss of blood. Kayo worked furiously to clean and patch his wounds. “Same thing happened to me once. I was fortunate to have Ishikaya there. The spirit of the jaguar is linked to this medicine. Her blood will make it more powerful.” He lifted up Jorobai’s pack and extended his other hand down to him. “Can you walk?”

  Jorobai slowly rose to his feet. He looked down at the body of the jaguar. “What do we do with her?”

  “Nothing. We leave her here. She was killed by her prey, and now she has become food for the carrion fowl, the insects and the worms. Not a minute to lose, right?” Kayo placed his hands upon the Amoza tree, and closed his eyes for a moment, offering his thanks. He then beckoned to Jorobai and they began the journey back to Ishikaya.

  Kayo cared for Jorobai as they made the three-day journey back to Ishikaya’s hut. Once they arrived, Ishikaya tended to Jorobai’s wounds for several days until they healed. Then he instructed Jorobai in the preparation of the Amoza fruit.

  Each one he cut in half with Jankaro’s knife. The pulp and seeds within he scraped out and lay down in the sun to dry for three days. Then he had to pulverize the seeds and chunks of dried fruit with a stone until it was a dry powder. Ishikaya stood chanting as they boiled it in the cauldron from sunrise to sunset. Kayo collected the finished brew in a large earthen jug. That night they waited to let it cool. Jorobai and Kayo sat through the night in Ishikaya’s hut while he chanted to his spirit guides.

  The next day, Kayo counseled Jorobai. “When you drink the potion, concentrate and imagine finding Jankaro. Then surrender. You will go on a journey within, to the core of your being, and there you will access the part of your soul that can find him.” The words sunk into Jorobai with the rays of sun, enlivening him. He felt energy pulse through his body and heard large birds above him flapping their wings.

  That night, they reconvened in Ishikaya’s hut. “Speak your name and why you have come,” said Kayo.

  “My name is Jorobai of Olaya. I need to find my son, Jankaro.” Ishikaya listened, lit his pipe and smoked. He blew puffs of smoke all over the hut and over Jorobai’s head. He took a few sips from the bottle of Amoza and passed it to Jorobai.

  He held his son in his mind and heart as he held the bottle of Amoza to his lips, tilted it backed and drank a gulp. The thick, bitter brew slid down into the pit of his stomach. Jorobai felt like he was about to wretch. “Hold it in,” said Ishikaya, and then he blew out the candle.

  In the darkness, Jorobai began to feel very sick. His head was spinning and he felt dizzy. His intestines ached and occasionally felt like they were being stabbed with a burning spear. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. He heard Ishikaya chanting, shaking his rattle and blowing clouds of smoke all over the room. He watched as his whole life passed before his eyes. He could hear Jankaro calling out to him, “Father! Father!” He saw his son, standing there with him in the cave where he found the knife. His body began to shake and convulse and he vomited all over his legs and the floor. He held onto consciousness as long as he could, holding the thought of seeing his son, but it all slipped away as his head dropped to one side and his body collapsed. Sleep rushed upon him, as unwelcome as death.

  When Jorobai’s hands tired from clinging to the thick red strands of grass that grew down from the sky, he released his grip and fell. He fell through the darkness fearing that all was lost. He hit the ground but it was soft, and he lied on his back to rest. He looked up at the sky and enjoyed the twinkling of the stars until an overwhelming thirst came over him. He opened his eyes to find himself lying in his own bed in his own hut back in Olaya. His head ached and his body was weak and stiff. He was disoriented and confused. He saw a jug of water next to his bed but his weakened arm could barely lift it. He struggled to control it and spilled all over himself as he drank it down in big gulps. A chunk of corn bread sat next to the jug and he devoured it like a starving man, spilling crumbs all over his chest. When he reached for the fallen crumbs he found a bushy beard extending from his chin and realized he had lost a lot of time.

  By the force of his will he managed to get into a sitting position. His body had wasted away to skin and bones. “Curse that old shaman,” he grumbled as he reached for an atlatl to lean on as he tried to stand.

  While he struggled, one of the women of the tribe came through the door. “Oh, you are awake! It has been so long! I will bring Kayo.”

  “Water,” his voice croaked as he limped forward.

  “There is a jug by your bed,” the woman called over her shoulder as she hurried away. The sunlight blinded Jorobai as he dragged himself out of his hut.

  He limped through the village and was soon discovered by his brother Rongo. “Thank Sagaya, you’re finally awake!” Rongo pulled Jorobai’s arm over his shoulder and helped him walk. “Take it slow. You look terrible.”

  “That shaman, he put me out. How long have I slept?”

  “A long time, big brother. Forty days. We have been waiting for you, but not idly. Kayo is on his way, we will explain.” Rongo helped Jorobai to the hammock in front of his own hut and fed him grilled fish, yucca mush and mango juice.

  “I must look like a dead mudfish.” Jorobai wiped the spillage from his grizzled beard and slumped down in the hammock. He wished he had the strength to run to Ishikaya’s hut and throttle the old man.

  “Don’t worry, Jorobai,” said Kayo as he slowed his stride to greet them. “I will shave your face for you,” he said with a wry smile. Jorobai frowned, irritated by the frivolity that highlighted how helpless he had become.

  “What do you remember?” Rongo asked as he chiseled an arrowhead.

  Jorobai stared up at the thatched roof over Rongo’s porch and probed his memory. He felt like he had been through a lot, but all he could remember was darkness. He knew he had dreamt of many things, but couldn’t bring any of it to mind. “I can’t remember anything.”

  “It may come to you with time,” said Kayo.

  “What is the last thing you remember?” Rongo asked.

  “Tipping the cup of Amoza to my lips.”

  “My father said the Amoza took you into a very deep trance.” Kayo made good on his offer as he sat on a wood stool and clipped the wild growth of hair from Jorobai’s face. Jorobai hated to be helpless like a child but he was too weak to protest. “You traveled far into the spirit world. For three days, he sat with you, chanting and petitioning his spirit guides to help you. You muttered to
yourself, many things he could not understand. Finally there was a moment when the two of you shared a vision. He saw your son sitting on a hillside, eating fruit, and looking down upon a Galdean city. My father had to come out of the trance, but you kept journeying further into the dreamtime.

  “At one point you said something about a bird that told you to go east and cross the salt river, the one with no other side. There you could find your son. But still you did not wake up. Your brother came to check on you and I told him what you said. In the time that you have been sleeping, he has searched many other villages and found men who have sailed to the salt river.”

  “I can take you to a large village to the north called Farilal,” said Rongo. “There are men there who have sailed to the salt river.”

  “My father told me to go with you,” said Kayo. “He told me to give you this.” He held up the bottle of Amoza that they had brewed together. “It will help you in your time of greatest need. I will teach you how to navigate the dreamtime.”

  Jorobai gagged and held himself back from vomiting. “No! I won’t drink any more of it. I can’t afford to sleep like that again.”

  “I will carry it for now. But in time you will realize that if you use it wisely, this medicine is your ally.”

  Jorobai shook his head and turned away. Forty days had passed in an instant. The gravity of the revelation shook him to the core. But deep inside his heart he somehow knew that his son was still alive and kicking.

  As he passed the days recovering his strength and gaining weight, Jorobai tried to put the pieces of his memory back together, but couldn’t come up with much. He remembered the image of a big blue bird, nearly the size of a condor, flying far away. A continuous burning in his gut told him that his son was still alive. “Across the salt river to the east…” he muttered to himself as he lifted his eyes to the setting sun. Rongo and Kayo packed their food, weapons and supplies. “You need to bring them gifts,” said Rongo. Jorobai didn’t have much. He prepared bags of seeds and vegetables he had grown. Rongo brought some rare finds from journeys far into the forest. Kayo brought medicines and sacred objects. Together they headed north to Farilal.

  For seven days they marched and rafted through the vast jungle. They took it slow in the beginning, while Jorobai’s strength was restored with hearty meals and stimulating herbs provided by Kayo. Much of the terrain was new for Jorobai. He marveled at the waterfalls and butterflies and multicolored creatures of the jungle. Every evening they dined upon a new breed of fish or wild game. He wished Jankaro was there to share the experience with him.

  Sharks

  The docks at Farilal bustled with activity. Piles of flopping fish were poured out, sliced open, bought, sold, cooked and eaten. “This place has the best fish,” said Rongo as he licked his lips. “But that’s not why we’re here. I see Madrigo up ahead.” Rongo pointed to a big man holding up a big fish, about to make a sale.

  When he finished he sized up the three Olayans. “This one,” Madrigo said as he pointed to Jorobai. “He is the one you told me about.”

  “This is my brother, Jorobai,” said Rongo.

  “Have you ever been to the salt water?” Madrigo raised an eyebrow knowingly as he asked Jorobai.

  “As you may know, I am searching for my son who disappeared. We need someone to carry us across the salt river to the east.”

  “The ‘salt river!’ Ha! It is called the sea, and no one has ever crossed it. It goes on and on, full of monsters. Nothing out there but death. It has been a long time since anyone has crossed the boundary into the salt water to even attempt such a journey. The problem is the sharks. Once you hit salt water, they are after you. They are group hunters and they love to eat humans. They will leap up out of the water to grab you. Some people say they have an ancestor who sailed the salty seas but all I know are stories of death, dismemberment and disappearance.”

  “This time we will prepare for them,” said Rongo. “Your boat is bigger than any other. We are three highly skilled bowmen. We can hire some other men from your tribe to fight with us.”

  “My crew and I, we know how to use bows and arrows and spears. It is our life. You must understand the risk that every one of us would be taking. We could leave our children without fathers.”

  Jorobai’s stomach burned but he could see a spirit of adventure lurking behind Madrigo’s eyes. “It is something I would never wish upon any of you. But I need your help. What price can I pay?”

  Madrigo let out a long exhale and his brow furrowed. He rubbed his chin and looked up into the sky to watch a cloud trace over the sun as the wind blew his hair across his forehead. “This would be the greatest risk we have ever taken. The price is… what do you have?”

  “I bring you the yields of my farm and the jungle.” Jorobai showed all that they had brought: fruit, vegetables, grains, seeds, spices, medicinal brews, hides, and freshly killed game. It was their most generous offer. It included everything Jorobai had to his name. Still he knew it was not enough. There was no way it could compare to the request.

  Madrigo sized up the offer and didn’t look impressed. “Wait here.” He walked away. They watched from afar as he spoke at length with a few elders, and some men who were likely members of his crew. After a while he returned. “You have brought many valuable supplies that my people can use. I acknowledge this gift but still it does not justify the risk of crossing an unknown sea, waiting to be eaten by a shark or some foreign creature of the deep.” He was morose. There was a part of him that longed for the adventure, but he could not justify the destruction that he could reap for his village if he or any of his men were to die. “We don’t know how long this sea would take to cross or how long it will take to find your son on the other side.”

  “Forty days. That is how long he journeyed in the dreamtime,” said Kayo. “Here is what we will do. You will take us across and give us some time to find Jankaro. Then you will bring us all home. For this we can give you this same harvest once a year for three more years.”

  “We can’t sit there and wait for you to find him.”

  “Just drop me off there and take these two men back and they will fulfill the debt,” said Jorobai. “I will find another way home after I find my son.”

  “That’s crazy,” said Rongo as he stepped in front of Jorobai. “Give us 40 days to find him.”

  “That’s a total of 120 days if your 40 days is correct. But who knows. I’ve never known anyone to sleep for 40 days before. For 120 days of our service on the sea, you must promise four years of gifts from your village, the best you have to offer, like what you have brought today.”

  Jorobai conferred with Kayo and Rongo. “You’re not alone Jorobai. We will help you,” said Rongo. “We will bring back Jankaro and he will help you tend your farm. We will bring their people greater gifts every year.” Kayo nodded in agreement. Jorobai’s spirit rose as the faith of his friends carried him.

  They returned to Madrigo and shook his hand. “Four years,” said Jorobai. “Let’s do this.”

  “A skilled hand carved these designs,” said Kayo as he dragged his fingers along the wooden fish and dolphins protruding from the siding that encircled the boat.

  “The work of my grandfather and his brother,” said Madrigo as he led the three Olayans to the front of the ship. “My father helped them with the work when he was a young boy.” He pointed to a large carving of a man with outstretched arms extended up from the bow. “Look closer, it’s a fish man,” he said with a chuckle. “My grandfather said he had seen people who lived under the water, but those old sailors are good at making up stories over a fresh cup of masato.” When he looked more closely, Jorobai noticed the carved fish man was hairless, had webbed hands, enlarged eyes and fish scales all over his body.

  Madrigo’s boat was bigger than any Jorobai had every seen. It was longer than four canoes, and three paces across. The crew of twelve took
little interest in the Olayans as they boarded. “We weren’t meant for the sea,” said Rongo as the boat pulled away from the dock to the sound of the crew boisterously singing a song about a pregnant woman who ate five samatas for dinner and demanded another.

  By midday the sail was full and the boat bobbed gently as it neared the mouth of the Kuntila River, where the fresh water met the salt. Kayo sat on the deck leaning up against the side and smoking his pipe. “I have seen the sea in my visions. Many strange and magical creatures reside below. Some are food, some are poisons, some are medicines, some are hunters who would kill you, some are guides. The sea is like the forest, all of its creatures forming a symphony of one united being. We will learn much about her greatness.”

  “Jankaro would relish being on this voyage with us,” said Jorobai. “He would fish until he caught every type of fish. He would dive down and swim among them, holding his breath longer each time. He would dive down deeper and deeper, discovering one treasure after another that lay hidden below.”

  “Can you feel him now?” asked Rongo.

  “I feel us inching closer to him. And yet he is far, far away.”

  “Salt water up ahead,” Madrigo said to Jorobai, as he scanned the horizon. “Dangerous waters. Full of sharks. These are big fish. Bigger than you. Bigger than me. Bigger than you and me put together. They attack in a group and bite the boats, rip them apart and eventually sink them. If you are the master bowmen that you claim to be, we might be able to fend them off as we pass through their hunting grounds.”

  “What are they hunting for?” Jorobai asked.

  “Samata, just like us. The sharks cannot live in the river water, so they wait for the samata to cross over to the salt water. They won’t allow humans in their territory. They will eat us. Once we fall in the water, we are easy prey, and a substantial meal.”